


From Mountain High to Valley Low

by girlintheglen



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlintheglen/pseuds/girlintheglen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>April and Illya, snow and bad guys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Mountain High to Valley Low

It was just a little shack on the edge of a small settlement that was situated at the base of the mountains.  Snow was all she could see for miles and miles… Except for him.

April Dancer had somehow managed to get herself into another tight spot with the Russian, only this time it really might be a matter of life and death; his by the look of things.  Illya lay atop a small cot, making the slightly built man seem somehow larger than he was.  April had tried to mend his leg, the left one that seemed shattered to her.  Perhaps it wasn’t, but she didn’t have any medical skills and the protruding bone and the swelling led her to believe it was, in all probability, very bad.

Illya was unconscious at present.  The pain of the broken bone had taken its toll, and he lay there on the cot, his shirt open as a sheen of perspiration glistened from the heat of a meager fire in the old iron stove.  Fever so soon?  That was more than likely due to the bullet hole in his side. April shivered at the thought of being shoved aside as Illya took the shot intended for her.

“You’re one crazy Russian, just like Napoleon said.  God, I wish he was here right now.  I wish Mark was here…’’  A low groaning sound interrupted her one sided conversation.

“Illya?  Please wake up, Kuryakin.  Believe it or not the troops are on their way, and this nightmare of a mission will be over.”

He didn’t wake up, just moaned as his body absorbed the pain.  April thought back on how this had happened, watching the rise and fall of Illya’s chest.  Why was it that everytime she spent time with Illya something bad happened?  The last time had been a crazy man whose party had turned into a scene from a horror film, especially memorable for the decidedly unromantic way that it had ended.

Sitting here now, willing the blond to keep breathing, April caught herself looking at the trim, bare torso.  _‘I forgot he has hair on his chest…’_  
“Stop it Dancer!  For goodness sake, the man is injured and you’re… well…”  She decided to not say out loud what she was thinking, just in case Illya could hear her.  She lusted after this man, even when he was tied up, or injured.  And he seemed to always be tied up or injured when in her company.  Chances were her infatuation with Kuryakin would not lead to romance. Ever.  She just hoped that being with her wouldn’t get him killed.  
“Oh, that would be awful.”  And, she was probably losing her mind.

The mission was intended to be relatively simple: April and Illya were to pose as a couple in order to make contact with a ring of baby snatchers who were selling stolen children to couples wanting to avoid lengthy adoption procedures.  This small Swiss village was the meeting place.  It was out of the way, and unlikely to be on a watch list by any of the European agencies who had been tracking the ring’s activities.  UNCLE had been summoned when Interpol failed yet again to trap the criminals who were responsible for so much heartache.

“Mark and I will be listening in, and we’re going to be at the edge of the transmission’s signal.  If anything happens we won’t be able to get to you immediately, so …”  Illya had raised an eyebrow as though  to ask what kind of trouble.  
“Just don’t irritate the bad guys, tovarisch.  Play nice, act like a man who’s desperate to have a baby, or to please his wife…”

“Or both.”  April had to chime in on that last sentiment.  She didn’t think she’d have any difficulties playing her part, especially since Illya was her male lead in this little drama.

Napoleon was aware of the young woman’s feelings toward his partner.  Although he had considered some casual dating with the Command’s new recruit, he decided against it.  Mark Slate was especially protective of his female partner, and seemed to be slightly apprehensive about sending April in with Illya.  He still didn’t understand why he couldn’t play the part.

Illya seemed comfortable enough with the situation, but Napoleon knew that his partner would never refuse to fulfill an assignment as it was given to him.  The group they were after didn’t appear to be violent, just greedy.  The main concern was the recovery of the missing children, three of them according to their best intelligence.  The job at this end was to send in a team to rescue those children while the abductors were meeting with Illya and April.  Napoleon had to send two of his best agents alone in order to stay and head up this part of the operation.

“I believe that Miss Dancer and I will be quite safe, and reasonably convincing.’  Illya looked at his watch, then out the window to the vast white landscape. “And I also believe that we should be on our way.  The meeting is in ninety minutes.  It would be best to arrive a little early.”

April rose up from her chair and joined Illya at the door to the hotel room.  Napoleon and Mark would monitor everything, something that made April doubly sure that she wouldn’t do anything stupid while pretending to be Illya’s wife.  Not stupid, but perhaps she could take a few liberties … for the sake of the mission.

Everything had gone well up until the moment of sealing the deal.  As Illya reached inside his coat to get a checkbook from the inside pocket,   something, perhaps that strange perception that separates villains from normal folk, made the contact grab Illya’s wrist and pull back his coat, revealing the holster and, more damning, his Special.

“Cop!  He’s a cop, and so is she. Shoot them!”  The scene went wild in seconds, and before Illya could duck away something hard was swung towards him, striking his leg with a sickening crunch.  April’s stomach turned over, but her own gun was out now, taking aim at the second man.  As she fired the first man leveled his weapon and, with a determined air, fired his gun at the redhead.  Illya was somehow able to launch himself upwards, in the path of the bullet.  He fell with a thud just as April swung around and shot the assassin/kidnapper.

Three men lay on the floor of the cabin.  Two of them were dead.  The third was Kuryakin, his left leg probably broken and his side bleeding.  
“Oh God… Napoleon did you hear all of this?”

“April, are you all right?  Where’s Illya?”  Napoleon’s voice carried his concern with a measure of calm, something that helped April gain control of her emotions.

“He’s… Illya’s shot.  I think .. oh, I think his leg is broken.  I heard something… crack.  Napoleon, please get her quickly.”

On the other end Mark was already out the door and heading towards their car, relieved that April was safe.  The car was running when Napoleon slammed into the passenger seat, all of his energies now funneled into the goal of getting to his partner.  “I’ve alerted the Geneva office, they’re sending a helicopter with a medic onboard.  They’ll probably get there ahead of us, but…”  
“I know, mate, step on it.”

Mark did step on it, and the trip was an excruciating and dangerously exhilarating ride on mountain roads that were covered in snow, even beneath the sunny skies.  Napoleon stayed in contact with April, monitoring his partner’s condition to the best of the woman’s ability.  For her part, April kept her eyes on the stricken agent, never losing hope that he would survive this latest debacle, and swearing to herself to give up all hope of romance with the Russian agent.

_‘How do I manage to get myself into these situations?  Oh, that’s right, I’m an UNCLE agent.  Go team_.’  Her thoughts were erratic and self-indulgent, everything she detested.   _Why did this man make her feel so … so… ?_

Illya moved, almost as if in reply to her question.  His complexion was pale, and when he opened his eyes the blue seemed as vibrant as the sky that hung in contrast to the white of the snow covered mountains.

“Illya? Kak vy sebya chuvstvuyete?”  What did she expect? He felt like he’d been shot and broken in two.  But that wasn’t his first priority.  
“Gde pokhititelee detey?”  Illya’s voice was weak, the low rumble of it even more pronounced by speaking Russian.  
“They’re dead. Both of them, dead.’ A the look of confusion on Illya’s face April repeated it in Russian.  
“Oni mertvy.” He nodded then, the cobwebs from being nearly dead himself were disentangling themselves.  Illya started to try and sit up, but April stopped him, putting her hands on the bare chest she had only recently been cataloging for a memory.  
“Oh no you don’t, Kuryakin.  Lie down and stay down. Lech'!”  
“Da… da…”  He slid back down and within a minute or so was asleep.  The exertion of speaking more than enough for now.

April contented herself with waiting.  The two bodies she managed to place close together and then cover with a blanket from a cupboard she had rummaged through.  She hadn’t been a Section II operative for so long that she was immune to the distastefulness of this aspect of her work.  However, her main objective was to keep Illya alive, something that she felt fairly confident about.  Still, the sooner Napoleon and Mark got here, the better.

A noise outside alerted her to the arrival of the helicopter.  Good, that was good.  The sooner Illya had some medical attention the better, and right now she wasn’t too sure she didn’t need a little TLC herself.  The crunching of tires on the snow caused a surge of relief; it had to be the other two men.  April looked out of a small window first, but the obvious nature of the helicopter’s mission made that seem a little silly.  She saw the blue Citroen pull up into the narrow spot next to the cabin.  Far away in the little village there were probably curious folk who wondered what could possibly bring a helicopter to their little hamlet in the mountains.  April didn’t want to be the one to tell them.

The medic hopped out of the chopper and headed for the cabin, medical gear in tow.  Napoleon jumped out of the car before it came fully to a stop.  He needed to see his partner and make sure that he was all right.  Well, as all right as could be expected.  Illya would no doubt say he was fine.  
Mark put the car in park and was heading for his partner, uncertain that she was in perfect working order.  Sometimes he wondered about having a woman in Section II, although he knew April was competent.  It just seemed, sometimes, as though it was asking too much.  
Mark got to April just as Napoleon was nealing beside Illya’s cot.  The two agents were both relieved to find their partners still breathing, still hopeful of remaining that way.

“April, luv… Are you all right?”  April let her partner embrace her, returning the hug with all the heartfelt emotion of a woman being rescued from… What exactly?  Not the danger.  No, it was a rescue from having to go it alone.  Illya was hurt, and emotionally she needed to have someone there to reassure her, to help her to make sense of it.

“Yes, yes I’m fine.  Poor Illya, he …’ And that’s when it hit her.  The tears weren’t far behind, but not because she was a woman.  Because it had almost been her.  “He saved my life, Mark.” And his arms reached around her, rocking her into a sense of security, understanding that this life was more than an adventure, it was a decision to be more than the average person could be.  It wasn’t an instant transformation, and April was still pretty new at it.  But, Mark knew she’d make it all the way.

“Don’t worry, luv, he’s been in worse shape.  At least, that’s what I’ve heard. He’ll make it, and be glad that he did save you; it’s who he is.”  
Napoleon was speaking with the medic, now assured that Illya was stable and that the wounds were not life threatening.  The broken bone in his leg would take him out of the field for quite a while, though.  He was glad to have agents like Slate and Dancer to stand in while his partner was recuperating.

“April, are you okay?”  The redhead nodded, her normal reserve of strength back in plentiful supply.  
“Yep, I’m good to go Chief.”  She winked at Napoleon, hopeful that he hadn’t seen her little breakdown.  Oh well, what difference did it make?  She’d done her job, stuck by Illya’s side after eliminating the threat… All in all, she’d done a good job of it.  A damn good job.  
Napoleon gave April a nod, then announced he was going with Illya to Geneva.  “You two take the car and meet me at headquarters.  A clean-up crew is on its way here, so once they’ve arrived you can head back.’  Napoleon turned in the doorway once more…  
“Good job, April.  I know Illya was attempting to keep you from being shot, but you handled yourself admirably.  Not bad for a rookie.”  He winked at her then, a big smile on the handsome face announcing that as far as he was concerned, April Dancer was a full-fledged Section II.

“Thanks Napoleon.  See you in Geneva.”  A final nod to the two agents and Napoleon was on his way.  Mark turned to his partner, one or two questions still remaining for the British agent.

“April, what was it you were scolding yourself over?  You said something like… the man is injured and you’re… then you stopped.  What was that all about?”

April was trying not to blush, but she wondered if it was something a person could actually control.  Probably not.

“Um… well, you see…”  Mark nodded knowingly.  He could see all right.

“Just remember the rules, April.  No weddings while we’re Section II, and dating each other is also something that Mr. Waverly frowns on.  You weren’t…?”  April had the presence of mind to look shocked at the implication.  “What? Me?  Me and … Illya?  Mark, you silly goose.  I just felt a little overwhelmed with him lying there bleeding, and that leg… you saw it right?”

April did know the rules.  They were probably very good rules, too.  Rules that she should try very hard to follow.

“Let’s go, Mark darling.  I hear Geneva has wonderful nightlife, and I feel like going out on the town.  Be my date?”

Mark Slate also knew the rules, but he was no fool.

He said yes.  


 


End file.
